My father is black and my mother is white
And though we live in a new generation I still find myself having to give explainations on how all of this works
The ignorance of race really hurts
No this is not good hair
No you can't touch it keep your ******* hands to yourself
No I'm not Mexican or Puerto Rican
Stop guessing above all else
I'm black like you
And I'm white like her
I'm flesh and blood not claws and fur
But see you don't want to accept me
Of course unless I'm president Obama or Halle Berry
Did you know they were mixed?
Or were you so deep in the lime light you don't care
Because on the streets I'm not considered black no matter how coarse my hair
I use relaxers too
I've had my hair braided
I've been called ******
I've been followed in stores
I've been sent to the end of the line for no reason
Denied friendship for seasons
And wouldn't you know
(Being black was the reason)
But its just not enough to gain any trust

I don't look anything like white people so I dont even try
Only hope for full acceptance from the other side
And yet still I'm left feeling quite empty inside
Where the hell do I fit in?
Who's on my side?
Since claiming black or white is considered a crime

This was when I decided to become an advocate of self
I found who I was
Didn't need any help
I don't let my race define who I am
But I embrace both my colors
They work well with each other
And that's something society just will not understand

Sometimes he let his eyes rest on hers, it needn't have been painful,
but it strangely was.
He broke a lifetime of avoiding eye contact to show her.
She was worth overcoming obstacles for.

I can’t tell you how I feel
I can’t describe the emotions that build up inside
So I only do what I know is right
The black ink an endless sight
A spell enchanting us all
The anger and sorrow
The joy and elation
It feels like it’s never ending
There’s a beginning, but never an end
A promise of written word
That uncovers the hidden world
The beautiful morning horizons
The moon that slowly rises
The no one knows
And I love you’s
I’ll give you a poem
A rhyme
A letter
I’ll give you my entire life’s story
On a slip of paper
In between the lines of white
Because it’s the only way I know how to speak
My voice is mute
But I’ve found the pen can fix that to

I lose pens constantly.
Constantly.
At every second of every day, a pen I once owned is now in the hands of a stranger.
I wonder if they are appreciating it as they should.
If the pen gets to write love notes or encouraging words on sticky tabs or biology lectures or groceries or to-do lists or the signatures of celebrities or hearts on the hands of preteens.
Maybe my pen will be the one that signs some bill to end a war. Or begin one. It could write the next great speech. Or play. It could ignite a revolution. It could change the world.

I hope their hands aren't sweaty.